


Fun with Vaginitis

by skullkue



Category: South Park
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Football, eat your meat kids, high school senior year, hints of kyman and buttman/cartters/cutters whatever you call it, slight parental neglect, slow burn i guess, smut later on, the return of vaginitis, wendy is bicurious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-04 09:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullkue/pseuds/skullkue
Summary: Stan Marsh is having a rough time dealing with school and his relationships due to his overbearing football coach, and to top it off, his vaginitis strikes back; however, this time seems a little...different.Fortunately, his girlfriend, Wendy, doesn't seem to mind it much. It's more like she's excited about it...?





	1. Football Practice Sucks

Even though Stan Marsh was one of the star players on South Park High School’s football team, he was getting tired of practicing day after day. Since he was one of the best, his coach put more pressure on him to succeed. The burly man could care less about the rest of the team—all that matters is the Cows winning and he believed that Stan, Clyde, and Token were the keys to victory. Everyone else just slowed those three boys down. Stan had football practice every weekday for the past four or so weeks. The weekends were his only salvation, but he was always too tired to go hang out with his friends. It also didn’t help that Saturdays and Sundays were designated homework days, as he barely had any time to do it whenever he got home. If he absolutely had to, he would stay up late to work on his assignments, but as the days went on it became more difficult for him to not only finish his work, but also wake up and get to school on time. His grades were failing because of this, but he refused to tell his parents and ask for help. Even if he did, they wouldn’t do much anyway, as his father was more concerned with athletics rather than academics, and his mother was often too busy with work to pay attention to Stan and his obvious mental and physical fatigue. He planned to get advice from his friend Kyle during lunch tomorrow, but for now he had to focus on practice. Again.

A heavenly sound rang throughout the sky, signaling the end of practice for the day. It was the shrill cry of the coach’s whistle.

“Alright, time to go home! Get some rest! We got a big day tomorrow!” the coach shouts.

“You say that all the time,” Stan mumbles under his breath as he, Clyde, and Token head out to the parking lot of the school. “And it’s not like he lets us rest anyway.”

“Yeah, seriously… He makes us work way too hard,” Clyde huffs as he wipes away a stream of sweat across his forehead.

“Hey, it’s still light out. Our parents won’t get upset if we’re out for a little longer. You guys wanna get milkshakes or something?” Token asks. He seems to be the only one in the group that is able to still walk somewhat properly and keep a remotely positive attitude.

“Nah. Good idea, just not a good day for it. We’ll die before we even get to the place, right Stan?” Clyde turns to his teammate, who is strenuously adjusting his uniform but to no avail, as Stan seems to be unsatisfied no matter how many times he tugs and pulls. “Uh, you ok?”

“Y-yeah. Just chafing a bit.” 

Clyde’s slightly concerned expression lightens up a bit. “Oh. I know how to fix that. When you go home, just put lotion or something like that between your legs—”

“Will that work for arms too?”

“Arms? Never heard of chafed arms.. I’m sure that it works the same way though. Maybe you just need a new uniform or loosen up your shoulder pads,” Clyde suggested.

“Yeah, that might work. Thanks.” “Hey Clyde, will you be ok enough to walk to my car?” Token asked. He’s been Clyde’s ride home the past few days.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need a second. I’ll meet you over there.”

“Why are you in a hurry now?” Stan asked. “You were just up for milkshakes a minute ago.”

“I’m not in a hurry, but if we’re not doing anything then there’s no point in staying here,” Token replied before heading to his car.

Clyde chugged down a water bottle and tossed its plastic carcass into the grass. With a contented sigh, he turned to look at Stan. “See you later man,” he said as he walked away.

“See ya,” Stan tugged at his shirt sleeve again as his teammates left. Continuing to adjust his uniform as he went, Stan sluggishly made his way to his truck and drove to the store to buy some unscented lotion, as well as a bottle of soda, before heading home. He originally planned to head straight home and forget about it, but this chafing was bugging the crap out of him, even though he took off his shoulder pads a few minutes ago.

As he was waiting at the checkout line, all he could think about was stripping his clothes and going right to bed. He didn’t care about doing his homework at this point. He desperately needed sleep. The elderly woman ahead of him was taking her time paying for all the stuff she had in her cart, so Stan decided that he could rest his eyes for just a moment…

“Next… Next!” the cashier called.

“W-what?” Stan was startled awake. _Did I really just fall asleep standing up? How long was I out?_   he thought.

“Sir?”

“Oh! I—uh—sorry!” Stan stammered as he quickly put the soda and lotion onto the counter. He knew that people were annoyed and staring at him, but he refused to acknowledge them and further fuel his embarrassment. He wasted no time in paying for his things.

“Thanks.” Stan hurried out to his car with his bag. He fumbled with his keys before successfully hopping into the vehicle. Tossing his stuff onto the passenger seat, he was off.


	2. What the Fuck is That!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.  
> I'm not sure how often I'll post, as I am a college student. You know how it goes.  
> I'm pretty sure you guys don't care, but I just wanted to let you all know. If you do for some reason, just check back every now and then ;)

Stan walked into the house, leaning against the front door as it slammed shut. Finally, I’m home, Stan thought with a sigh of relief. Randy Marsh was sitting on the couch, almost completely naked, surrounded by discarded potato chip bags and other junk. He looked like a complete mess, but that’s almost expected of him. He seemed happy though, which always made his son somewhat less stressed. “Hey, Stan! How was football practice?”

“…Fantastic,” the boy lied.

“Ah, that’s great! Did you beat those weak kids to a pulp??”

“No, we had drills today.” Stan groaned at the thought of possibly doing drills again tomorrow. Drills put more of a toll on him than normal practice does. He absolutely hated it.

“Aw, that sucks.” Randy looked disappointed, not at his son, but at the fact Stan wasn’t able to pummel the other team members in a practice game today. “Hey, why are you back so late anyway? Didn’t practice end an hour ago?”

“Late?” Stan looked out the window and saw how dark it was. He didn’t realize that he was gone for so long. He turned back to his father and said, “Oh, I was at the store. This old lady was taking forever.”

“You’d better not spend all your allowance in one place.”

“Yeah, I know. I just got, like, two things, that’s all.”

“Alright,” Randy said as he turned his attention back to the television. He raised the TV remote and changed the channel with the incredible speed of a sloth.

Happy that he no longer had to talk about football or anything, Stan made his way to the upstairs bathroom. He wanted to take a shower, but he was afraid that he’d fall asleep in there; he decided that he would just put on the lotion and go to sleep.

Stan took off his sweat-infused uniform, but he didn’t expect to see what exactly was causing the discomfort on his arm.

“What the hell?!” Stan cried. A noticeable laceration formed on his left bicep. How long has that been there? Stan frantically checked the rest of his left arm and then the right. One was forming there too, on his forearm. It wasn’t as big and pronounced as the one on his left arm, but it was there and noticeable nonetheless.

“Fuck.” Lotion wasn’t going to fix this. Hell, maybe stitches couldn’t fix this. The distraught teen thought about what could have possibly caused this. Well, he accidentally tripped over a tire and fell onto the football field today during practice, but it shouldn’t have created such a large wound. If he did manage to cut his arm that badly, then his uniform would have been ripped too, but it wasn’t. The uniform was covered with grass, dirt, and sweat, but no holes—at least not large ones anyway.

He needed to go to the doctor, but he would have to go either late at night or tomorrow morning instead of going to school. He decided against going tonight, as his dad or maybe his mom would ask him where he’s headed off to so late. They couldn’t know about this. They would make an even bigger deal out of Stan’s problem. With that in mind, he decided to bandage up his arms, go to bed, and then go to the doctor tomorrow morning.

* * *

Stan had trouble waking up this morning. He knew that he was going to miss some school, but he didn’t want to miss lunchtime with his friends. It was his only opportunity to talk to them in person. Stan still managed to get up, but he woke up later than he wanted to.

For some reason, the bandage wrapped around his arms felt tighter than when he first put it one. Much tighter. The fatigued teen groggily swung his legs over his mattress, sat for a minute adjusting his eyes to the daylight streaming through his window, then stumbled out of his room and into the bathroom.

He needed to change the bandage anyway. This time, he’ll make it looser—

_What._

_What is that._

As Stan took off the bandage, he was shocked to find that the lacerations had multiplied, and some had even transformed.

The wounds he bandaged last night became more rounded, hollow, and were now surrounded by plump flesh extruding from his arms. If Stan didn’t know any better, he would say that his wounds were actually _vaginas_ growing on him in random places.

But that can’t be right…right? The last time he had vaginitis was in fourth grade. It can’t resurface…can it?


	3. The Visit

Luckily Stan left before his parents woke up, or they would think he was skipping class and therefore football practice. He really, really, didn’t want to go to practice, but he was pressured too. Hopefully, the doctor will give him a letter that allows him to skip it. Even one day will be beneficial to Stan’s mental health. If he ever got a day off, that would be absolutely wonderful.

Stan got to the walk-in clinic at 8:47. School started around eight, but right now his tardiness didn’t bother him. He was more concerned about these strange growths.

“Hi, are you a new patient?” the secretary asked.

“No? Uh, I’m Stan Marsh—listen, I just need a doctor right now. It’s an emergency. I don’t know what’s wrong with me—”

“Alright, take a seat,” the secretary commanded flatly.

Stan’s leg couldn’t stop shaking. He was extremely nervous. What if it _was_ vaginitis? Nobody could see him like this. It looks much worse than it did when he was younger. It’s as if they matured or something…

As he was waiting, he reflected on who exactly saw him like this when he first contracted vaginitis. Well, his parents and the Broflovskis saw him at the hospital, along with the Stotches and Ms. Cartman. He didn’t realize how many adults actually saw the vaginas on his face. Although they were next to his hospital bed, they didn’t see the vaginitis in full swing. The only people who saw that were Butters, Cartman, and—

Stan’s phone vibrated, notifying that he received a text message.

—Kyle.

**Hey dude. Where are you? I didn’t see you in the hallway today** , his best friend texted.

**Yeah, I’m at the doctor’s office** , Stan replied.

**Why? What happened?**

Stan really didn’t want to tell him that he was drowning in pussies again, but Kyle was his super best friend. He could talk to him about anything.

**My vaginitis may or may not came back…**

**What?! How long has this been going on?**

**It started last night, but it’s starting to get pretty bad… Don’t tell ANYONE ok?**

**…Do your parents know?**

**No way. I’m not telling them.**

**They need to know though.**

**Not if I can hide it.**

“Stan Marsh?” a nurse called from behind the now open office door. “Oh. Be right there.”

**Hey dude. Gotta go. I just got called in. See you at lunch.**

**Ok, see you later then.**

Stan put away his phone and met with the nurse, who guided him throughout the hallway filled with various offices.

“Right in here,” the nurse said with a smile and a wave towards the door they stopped at. Stan walked in as instructed to and sat on the examination table.

“The doctor will be in in just a minute, ok?” the nurse asked as she opened the door to leave.

“Okay,” Stan mumbled as the door shut behind her. When he was certain that he was alone, Stan inspected the growth that was the easiest to get to underneath his long-sleeved shirt: the one on his right forearm. It was smaller than the one on his left arm, but it was still noticeable. Out of curiosity, he toyed with the skin surrounding the opening of the growth. It was a strange sensation, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad one. He stopped for a moment to check the opening. _How deep does it go?_ he wondered.

As Stan was inspecting it, the doctor came in and surprised him. He frantically pulled his sleeve back down, covering the growth. Luckily, the doctor didn’t see him messing around with it. Stan smiled nervously at the doctor.

“So, Stan Marsh, is it?” the doctor read on his clipboard after adjusting his reading glasses.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Alright. So what’s the problem today?” the doctor asked in a lighter tone.

“Well..” Stan explained his problem to the doctor, paying attention to the changes in the doctor’s expression. Each change made him more nervous and embarrassed.

“Do you mind taking off your shirt so I may see these lesions?” the doctor asked cautiously.

“Yeah, sure,” Stan said as he carefully removed his shirt.

The doctor approached him, then he kneeled, checking the growths on Stan’s arms and marks on his chest. “Well, it seems to be centered around your torso and arms… You said you once had vaginitis, correct?”

“Yeah, when I was in fourth grade.”

“What’s your diet been like?”

“I’ve been eating mostly healthy food. My coach says that I need to eat properly so I can do well for our team..”

“Have you been eating any meat?”

“Not really, no.” Stan suddenly remembered what caused his vaginitis the last time: the lack of meat in his diet. “Sir, vaginitis can’t come back, right?”

“It can,” the doctor said as he stood up, “It’s similar to the shingles virus. Once you are exposed to it the first time, it can come back. This usually occurs near the end of puberty, and the chances of it resurfacing are higher if you don’t eat meat.”

“Oh, God,” Stan buried his face in his hands.

“However, the second contraction of vaginitis can go away quickly, provided you take the proper steps.”

“What do I need to do?” the teenager looked up from the safe hiding spot of his cupped hands.

“Eat more meat. In your case, you’ll have to eat much more than the typical vaginitis victim. You have the most rapidly developing case of vaginitis I have ever seen. You’re lucky it hasn’t gotten to your face.”

“My face? But it was all over my face when I was little.”

“And you said you had to stay in the hospital for two weeks. The vaginal growths take in blood and oxygen from your circulatory system. If the growths reach your face, there is a possibility that the lack of oxygen from the brain can make you faint or even kill you. Once that happens, the vaginitis will spread all over your body and soon after you'll be the biggest pussy known to man.”

“…What?” Stan remembered when he first got vaginitis. It was hard to stay focused, or at the least stay awake. He remembered fading in and out of consciousness right in front of his worried friend Kyle. Stan hated how Kyle looked at him that day. He didn't like making his friends worry, especially his long-time super best friend.

"Since it seems to be centered away from your face, I think you'll be okay going to school, as long as you cover up with loose-fitting clothes... And gauze bandages should help—here, take some if you need it.” The doctor searched for some gauze in a wall cabinet and presented it to Stan, who hesitantly took it from the man’s hand. “Again, don't put it on too tight. It will cause major discomfort and sometimes rashes."

"Ew."

"Also, I strongly advise against strenuous exercise. As the growths take in oxygen, it will make it harder to breathe when playing football the way you say you do."

_Yes!_ Stan thought. _No more football!_

"Again, eat as much meat as you can until it clears up. If it gets to your face, you must go to the hospital _immediately_ , understand?"

"Yes." Stan put back on his long-sleeved shirt.

"Do you have any questions?"

Stan was too busy with the thought of having to deal with vaginitis again, and his classmates and coach more than likely making fun of him. "No. I can't think of anything right now."

"All right. I'll write a note excusing you from football practice until further notice. Don't worry, I'll be discreet as legally possible. Do you need a note for class today?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay. Follow me, if you will." The doctor held open the door for Stan. He slid off the examination table, his sneakers smacking against the tile floor. The teen followed the man out back to the secretary.

Stan drowned out the doctor asking for the secretary to type out the notes for him by texting Kyle again.

**Hey** , he typed.

**You out of the doctor's?**

**Just about, yeah.**

**What did he say? Do you have vaginitis again?**

Stan sighed. **Yep.**

**Dude that sucks major balls.**

**Yeah I know dude. This is terrible.**

**No kidding. Are you still coming to school?**

**Yeah, the doctor said I can go to school as long as it doesn't reach my face. If that happens I have to go to the hospital.**

**Dude.**

Stan continued to relay to Kyle what the doctor had said until the notes were typed up by a secretary and signed by the doctor himself.

"Here you go," the doctor said as he handed the papers to the boy.

"Thanks." Stan took the notes and briskly walked to his car, fearing what his coach and his friends had to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how AO3 works help


	4. Gross Thoughts

“Dude, you made it!” Kyle said excitedly as Stan sat down next to him at the lunch table.

“Yeah, I got here around ten. I guess none of you saw me?” Stan asked.

“I did, I just don’t care,” Cartman answered snidely.

“Crm-mn,” Kenny said sternly under his hood.

“What! I answered honestly!” The fat teen shouted at his friend next to him.

Kyle was about to get involved, but he was interrupted by Butters’s arrival.

“Heya, fellas! Can I sit with you guys today?” Butters asked cheerfully over Stan’s shoulder.

“Go away, fa—” Kyle clamped his hand over Cartman’s mouth before he could say the offensive word.

“You don’t have to ask, Butters. Sit down,” Stan said with a smile as he patted the seat next to him.

Cartman sloppily licked Kyle's hand, prompting the redhead to quickly remove the appendage.

"Cartman!" Kyle cried with disgust. The larger teen only chuckled in response.

"Gee, thanks Stan!” Butters cheered as he plopped down onto the seat.

“No problem.”

“Ey, werr wurr oo oodey ene-wey?” Kenny asked.

Stan was able to understand Kenny’s muffled speech when he was a kid, but over the years he lost that useful ability. He wished that Kenny kept his hood down more often. “Kenny, you know I can’t understand you that well with your hood up.”

“O. Sirree,” Kenny apologized as he lowered his parka hood. “I asked, ‘Where were you today anyway?’”

“Oh. I was at the doctor.” Stan answered.

“The doctor? Are you hurt? Are you sick?” Butters asked, worried about his friend.

“Uh—”

“Did you go for that thing on your neck?” Kenny asked.

“…What?” Stan wished Kenny kept his hood up.

“Yeah you got this nasty-ass scar on your neck,” Cartman said.

“It’s right here,” Butters said, leaning towards Stan with his finger extended, about to touch the aforementioned area.

Stan quickly swatted away Butters’s arm and turned to the younger teen, the elder’s face full of malice with a touch of embarrassment.

“DON’T YOU _FUCKING_ TOUCH IT BUTTERS!” Stan yelled. Everyone went silent, with the teen’s angry voice echoing throughout the entire cafeteria.

“Uh, Stan…?” Kyle asked meekly.

“Damn, are you P.M.S.-ing or something? Didn’t think you hippies were so aggressive—”

“Shut it, Fatass!” Kyle barked from across the table.

Cartman slapped his hands on the lunch table and lifted himself up. “Ay! Don’t call me fat, you stupid Jew!”

As Cartman and Kyle were having one of their many petty fights, and Butters was sitting there, hurt and trying to figure out what just happened, Stan considered Cartman’s comment. Can that actually happen? He noticed that the vaginas seemed to be more…mature…than they were when he first got the illness. Could uteri form within them? Could he possibly get himself pre—Stan felt the need to vomit with that thought.

Kyle noticed Stan’s face go pale. “Dude…are you okay?”

Stan quickly covered his mouth with his hand as he gagged. “I… I’m going to puke.” He knocked into the table as he quickly rose to go to the bathroom.

Kyle, along with everyone else in the cafeteria, watched as Stan ran out the doors. When he couldn’t see his friend anymore, he turned to Butters. He laid a gentle hand on the young teen’s shoulder and apologized for Stan’s behavior.

Butters twiddled his thumbs and mumbled with a sad smile, “Thanks, Kyle. I figure he wasn’t actin’ alright. It’s okay.”

* * *

 

Kyle left Butters to go check on Stan. He could hear his friend retching as soon as he opened the cafeteria doors.

“Stan..?” the redhead called, approaching the men’s bathroom.

The only response was a stream of vomit colliding with the inside of a toilet.

Kyle followed the sound to a bathroom stall that had its door slightly ajar. He opened it all the way and entered, not bothering to ask to come in. The boy squatted next to his friend kneeling on the bathroom floor and patted his back gently.

“Hey, dude… Are you okay?” Kyle asked softly.

Stan coughed one last time and sniffled before turning his pale head to the other teen.

“Yeah,” Stan said with a gravelly voice. “I just.. had this thought and it made me feel really sick.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t want to think about it. If I do, I might just throw up all over again,” Stan said quickly. He covered his mouth with the side of his fist and coughed, hoping he wouldn’t actually vomit once more.

“Do you need to go home?” Kyle looked on at Stan with concern and worry.

“No, I’ll be okay for the rest of the day, I think.” Stan trembled as he placed his hand on the stall wall, attempting to pull himself up. His friend beside him helped lift him up by holding onto his other arm, accidentally squeezing too tight. Stan hissed through his teeth at the discomforting pressure. Kyle let go immediately once Stan was able to stand upright.

“I-I’m sorry! Did I accidentally—” Kyle stammered.

“It’s fine, dude. You don’t know where they are. It’s not your fault.” Stan gave his friend a weak but genuine smile.

“Speaking of which, do you have anything to cover up the one growing on your neck?”

“Yeah, the doctor gave me some gauze to cover it up.” Stan patted his jean pockets for the bandage, but then he remembered that he left it in his backpack, which was in his locker. “Hey Kyle, do you mind getting it for me?” Stan promptly told him where it was along with his locker combination.

“Sure.” Kyle exited the stall, gently closing the door behind him. “Stay here, ok? Be right back,” he said as he left the bathroom.

As Stan was left all by his lonesome waiting for Kyle to get back, his mind buzzed with thoughts surrounding his condition. How long will it take for the vaginitis to spread to his face? How long will it be until he dies from it? How would his family react if and when they find out about it? What about his other friends? His girlfriend..?

_Oh. Wendy. Shit._

Stan couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to Wendy. She must be absolutely pissed. She hasn’t talked to him either, so maybe she wasn’t all that mad at him..?

Kyle interrupted Stan’s train of thought as he slowly pushed the stall door open. He presented the gauze to the noirette, who took it gratefully. Stan stepped out of the stall and stood in front of the bathroom mirrors, inspecting the new formations on his neck. _Thank God they just look like regular flesh wounds instead of… well, vaginas._ His expression was blank as he cautiously wrapped the bandage around him. He swallowed and looked down in shame. This was getting more embarrassing by the minute…

“Hey,” Kyle said as he placed his hand on the clear spot on Stan’s back that he luckily found earlier, “You don’t have football practice for a while right?”

“Yeah..?”

“Well, maybe we can go to Red Robin’s tonight and kill two birds with one stone by having time to catch up and getting some burgers for you?”

Stan perked up at the prospect of hanging out with Kyle again after such a long time, but quickly groaned at Kyle’s accidental pun.

“What? What’s the matter?”

“That joke was way too easy, dude.”

“What?” It took Kyle a moment to realize what he said. “Oh.” He laughed at his unintentional joke, Stan chuckling with him. They both missed spending time together and laughing at the dumbest things.

“Alright,” Kyle said, settling down. “Let’s get out of here. Lunch is almost over.”

“Oh shit. Totally forgot about lunch.”

By the time they got back to the table, everyone was cleaning up; however, Stan’s tray was still there, but a certain someone was picking off of it.

“Aw, Kenny,” Stan said with dismay.

Kenny looked up at Stan with a curious expression. “But you always give me your food.”

“Yeah but I needed at least the protein—actually, nevermind. You didn’t know. I’ll just steal from Cartman tomorrow.”

The brunette spun around in his seat as he was mentioned. “Ay! I’m still here, hippie!”

Kyle tapped Stan’s back with a cautious finger. “Hey, you don’t need to do that. We can stop at the store after we go out to eat and buy you some meat and stuff in case you don’t have any at home, so you can bring it to school for lunch.”

“Yeah, alright. Sounds good.”

“Where are you two homos going to eat?” Cartman asked.

“Red Robin’s, if you must know,” The redhead replied.

“Hey, can I come?” Kenny asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Kyle said.

“You payin’, Kahl?” Cartman asked with a smirk.

“Who said you were going, Fatass?”

“Uh, don’t ignore my question. Are you, the dirty Jew that you are, paying for Red Robin: yes or no?”

“Yeah, but not for you. You’ve got plenty of money to take care of yourself.”

Cartman stood up (a little too quickly for his size) and leaned forward to make eye contact with Kyle. “You greedy-ass motherfucking JEW!”

“Suck it up, fatass.” As the two teens continued bickering into the main hallway, Stan was thinking about how much fun he was going to have after school. Although he was ecstatic, he couldn’t help but feel anxious about his vaginitis.

Hopefully it wouldn’t get any worse.


	5. Red Robin

“So what did your coach say?” Kyle asked as he slid into the passenger seat of Stan’s truck, shutting the door behind him without breaking eye contact with his friend.

Stan was staring blankly at his steering wheel, tracing the barely visible lines in the leather with a weak finger. “He wasn’t very happy with me,” he responded quietly.

“Why? It’s not like you knew this would happen,” Kyle said.

“I know. He’s just pissed that I can’t play. Oh well.” Stan shrugged, then he placed both of his hands on the wheel. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah dude.”

“Cool.”

As he drove to Red Robin, Stan thought about his conversation with his football coach.

“Are you serious?” the coach had bellowed, waving the doctor’s note in his hand. “You’re skipping out on me?”

“I’m sorry, Coach, but the doctor said I can’t play.”

“And why is that?”

“…I don’t want to say. At least in front of everybody.”

“Don’t be a pussy, Marsh. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”

Stan paused and sighed. He hated being called that, whether it was figuratively, or in this case, literally. “I have vaginitis…”

“…What?” The man was stunned. “How the hell do you get that? You’re a boy aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but…” Stan explained to the coach what the doctor had said to the boy, albeit in simpler terms that the man could understand.

“So what you’re sayin’ is, one of my star players can’t play or else you’ll turn into a giant pussy?”

“Yes,” Stan groaned.

The coach considered this for a moment. “Alright. I guess I’ll excuse you until this—” He waved his free hand in Stan’s direction, trying to find the right word to describe his illness. “— _thing_ goes away. But it better be quick—and make sure you put in double the effort whenever you come back.”

Stan felt exhausted at the thought alone of playing double his best next practice, whenever that time comes. He almost considered prolonging his healing, but at the same time he didn’t want to end up in the hospital again, so he let the fact that the coach was going to excuse him elevate his mood instead.

“Thank you, Coach,” Stan said with a firm nod.

“Yeah, yeah,” the man replied, rolling his eyes and waving his hand dismissively. “Just hurry up and get better. I can’t afford you being absent for long.”

“Yes sir.”

* * *

 

“Oh man, it smells _sooo_ good,” Stan said, sniffing the air surrounding Red Robin as he exited the vehicle.

“Ha, yeah, it does.” Kyle said.

As the crossed the parking lot, a car suddenly sped forward towards the boys and stopped in front of them.

“What the fuck!” Kyle shouted, knocking on the passenger window. “You almost hit us, asshole!”

The window rolled down and the passenger inside waved at them in a friendly manner. It was Kenny, with Cartman sitting in the driver’s seat beside him.

“Cartman, you asshole,” Kyle said flatly.

The larger teen leaned over Kenny and grinned. “I brought Butters too, since you rudely excluded him during lunch.”

As if on cue, Butters rolled down his window in the back seat and waved.

“Oh, don’t pretend you actually care for him. You’re just trying to get brownie points so he’ll suck your dick.”

Butters pursed his lips and looked away, blushing.

“Oh, he’d do that for free. Anyway, we’re going to park and we’ll met you guys inside,” Cartman said.

“Ok, fine,” Kyle said. As Cartman drove off to find a parking spot, Kyle looked back to his taller friend, who was watching the bickering in silence. He rubbed the gauze on his neck—

—Kyle slapped Stan’s hand away. “Don’t touch it!” “Sorry, it felt uncomfortable,” Stan said.

“Did you put in on too tight?” Kyle asked, both of them heading towards the doors of the restaurant.

“I don’t think I did.” Stan checked his hands for any lacerations. Concluding that none were forming on his hands (yet), he opened the door.

“Hi, welcome to Red Robin! Is it just you two?” The greeter asked.

“No, we got five,” Cartman said barging into the restaurant with Kenny and Butters.

“Oh. You found a spot,” Stan said.

“Took for-fucking-ever but we got one…” Cartman sighed.

“It literally took you two minutes,” Kyle said with his arms crossed.

“Eric is impatient,” Butters said for Cartman.

“He almost crashed into this old dude pulling out of a spot,” Kenny laughed. “Probably would’ve drove over him if he could.”

“Wait, did you park in a handicapped spot, by any chance..?” Kyle asked.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Cartman answered with a huge grin. “No one needs to know.”

“There’s going to be around a thirty minute wait, is that okay?” the woman asked after observing the teenagers, interrupting the banter.

“I guess,” Stan said.

The lady gave them a buzzer and they sat down on the chairs and benches in the lobby. While they were waiting, the gang pulled out their cell phones to keep them occupied. Stan used this time to check on his girlfriend, Wendy, whom he had little to no time to talk to because of football practice and the fatigue that followed after.

**Hey babe** , he texted.

Stan got an almost instant response. 

**Don't "hey babe" me! You haven't answered my phone calls or texts for several weeks now! And whenever I approach you during lunch, you just shrug me off, you asshole!** Wendy responded.

**I know, and I’m sorry.**

**You’d better explain yourself.**

**Listen, I’ve been at football practice everyday after school and by the time I get home I barely get any time to just chill out. I do my homework until late at night and after that I go straight to bed. The reason why I shrug you off because sometimes I’m just too tired to talk. It’s been the same with Kyle. I’m sorry.**

It took a few minutes for Wendy to respond. With each second that passed Stan became more and more nervous. What if she didn’t forgive him? What if she wanted to break up with him?

Luckily the response was favorable. **I guess I can forgive you. You’re lucky I love you, you know.**

Stan sighed with relief. **lol I really am. I love you too, I really do.**

**I know ;)**

**Let me make it up to you. Want to spend the day together on Sunday?**

**Let me see…** Wendy typed. **Yeah, that’ll work.**

**Sweet. I’m a little busy right now but I’ll text you later, ok?**

**Sure. Ttyl**

Stan turned off his phone and faced Kyle, who was sitting next to him.

“What’s up?” Kyle asked.

“I feel so bad about Wendy, dude. I haven’t been giving her any attention because of football practice,” Stan said solemly. “Buuut, we’re going to spend the day together on Sunday,” he said, this time with a smile.

“That’s good. What do you plan to do?”

“I dunno. Take her to the movies or something. I gotta figure it out.”

“Well we got like—what—fifteen more minutes until we sit down? You have some time to plan out your day.”

“Yeah.” Stan proceeded to brainstorm a plan for the perfect day.


	6. Double Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that chapter 5 was missing some text. Now it's fixed!

After spending time with his friends on Friday, Stan had the rest of the evening and all of Saturday to himself. He used this time to catch up on his homework. Stan’s grades were slipping, as he had barely any time after football practice to study and complete basic assignments.

Stan pulled up a chair to his cluttered desk and sat down before the mess of textbooks and paper. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He knew that he had a lot of work to catch up on, he just wasn’t prepared for it.

 _What to work on first_ , Stan thought. He decided on geometry. As he opened his textbook, his phone, laying on the table beside him, buzzed. He unlocked his phone and looked for the notification. It was a new text from Wendy.

 **Hey babe** , it said.

 **Hey. What’s up?** Stan responded.

**What are we doing tomorrow? Are you picking me up or am I meeting you somewhere?**

**I’m picking you up**. Stan planned to take her to Buca di Faggoncini, then take a trip to Stark’s Pond, and finally return home and watch a movie on Netflix together or something. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do last.

**Ok. What time?**

**3.**

**Ok see you then, babe.**

**See you. Love you.**

**Love you too.**

Stan trudged through his work, one assignment at a time, daydreaming about Sunday. He knew that his plan was cliché, but he didn’t care. As long as the thought counts, right? There’s not much else to do in a hick-town like South Park. No more fun and exciting and wacky adventures were to be had now that Stan and his friends were around eighteen and almost done with high school. He wasn’t sure if he actually liked his almost completely normal life.

* * *

It was late into the night when Stan finally got his work done. He released a strong sigh of relief as he flopped over the cover of his history textbook. He was utterly exhausted and yearned for rest, but he needed to change the gauze on the vaginal growths.

Stan made his way to the bathroom down the hall. Cautiously closing the door behind him, he began unwrapping the gauze.

The boy looked at the vagina on his left arm. It was plump and fully developed by the looks of it. Every part of the vagina, including the clitoris, were there, staring at Stan. The teen had a sudden urge to toy with the labia of the appealing growth. First he pinched it, then he gently but firmly pressed his finger across the skin.

“Mm,” he mumbled to himself. It was a strange sensation, getting turned on from touching his arm. His finger journeyed up to the clitoris and tapped the exposed ball of flesh. He hissed at the stinging pleasure.

 _So this is what having a clit is like, huh?_ He thought.

Stan rubbed against the side of the sensitive organ until he found a sweet spot along a vein.

“Shit,” he whispered. As he continued rubbing it at different pressures and speeds, he started pitching a very noticeable tent in his jeans. His dick was chafing against the cool metal of his zipper and the rough fabric of his pants.

Stan unzipped his jeans and let his cock spring free. He figured that it would feel amazing if he jerked himself off and ate out the pussy at the same time. The thought alone made his dick and vagina(s) twitch.

Stan wrapped his right hand around his cock and twisted his hand around, moving it up and down along the shaft, occasionally swiping his thumb over the head. The teen brought his left arm up to his mouth, his tongue ready to pleasure the plump vagina.

Stan closed his eyes and began lapping at the skin surrounding the growth, occasionally nipping at the sensitive flesh. With every lick and bite, his right hand tugged faster and harder on his dripping dick. He suckled on the clitoris and moaned.

He then placed his left arm onto the bathroom counter and bent towards it, continuing to pleasure himself.

“Ah—Fuck…”

The stimulation was too much to take. From him fucking his hand to eating himself out, he felt that he was going to cum soon.

“Fuuuck…”

“Hey, are you almost done?” his dad called, knocking on the door.

_Goddammit._

“Y-yeah I’ll be out in a minute,” Stan said.

“Alright, just hurry up!” Randy said through the door.

_God. Dammit._

_How am I going to get out of here when I have my dick out and the bandages off?_ Stan haphazardly grabbed some gauze from the mirror cabinet and wrapped his arms, then he tried to get of his erection by splashing cold water on it. Eventually it worked, and he pulled up his pants and left the bathroom.

In the dark hallway, Randy asked, “What were you doin’ in there? Jerkin’ off or something?”

Stan chuckled nervously. “Nah, just had to take a massive shit.”

“Well, shit faster next time.”

“Will do.” Stan said as he entered his bedroom and Randy entered the bathroom.

 _Well, shit_ , he thought, laying in his bed.

Stan rolled over to his side and closed his eyes. _I guess I’m just gonna sleep then._

It took a little while for his excitement to die down, but eventually fatigue overcame him and he fell asleep.


End file.
